War of the Worlds
by litgurljane
Summary: While investigating the murder of a UNIT operative, Calla finds herself embroiled in battle for the planet and joining forces with an eccentric Doctor connected to her past. Chapter 7 just added!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I'll try to update about every other day.

**Austin, Texas 2010**

Jasmine Kline rapped the phone in disgust. Her sister had, once again, broached the subject of New York.

"Come on, Jas, you can't believe everything you see in the movies. The city's not as crime-ridden as Hollywood makes it out to be. Please, just give it a shot," Maria pleaded.

"Maria." Jasmine spoke slowly to ensure reception of her argument. "I'm not leaving Austin. My whole life is in Texas. I start grad school in the fall and Ivan just returned from Iraq."

Jasmine glanced at a metal picture frame resting on her desk. A young, happy couple grinned out from a tropical background. Jasmine longed for those days to return, an era of love without loss, mystery without secrets. Her heart ached when she thought of the professional confidentiality she and Ivan were forced to uphold, the secret worlds they withheld from one another.

"I know you love Ivan but, Jas, think about it: he's only home for a couple of weeks and then he's going back. What are you going to do all on your own for another fifteen months? Drown yourself in mundane classes while working the nightshift on Post?" Maria sighed. "Look, you'll be transferred eventually anyway, why not just relocate now?"

"I've worked too hard in school to quit now. Besides, if I stay in Austin I might have a shot at Post commander. We may be an outpost but we're still UNIT," Jasmine stated defensively.

Knowing the conversation was pointless, Maria finally conceded and squawked goodbye.

Jasmine's head dropped in her hands. She had seriously considered joining her sister in New York, and was even now receptive to the idea.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Odd, Jasmine thought. She glanced at her computer's clock. It was quarter after five, too early for the six o'clock shift to arrive and she was the only employee on this floor. It was probably one of the janitors hurrying to finish before the daytime flood of personnel. She had always thought those pesky maids were lazy.

The footsteps halted outside Jasmine's office. She swiveled around in her desk chair, ready to reproach the intruder. A dark figure loomed against the doorjamb. Jasmine started to lecture, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, her tightened lips burst open into a bloodcurdling scream.

**New York, 6 months later**

A local apartment guide listed the complex as "historic." All Calla saw was a forgotten wooden structure violating every fire code known to man. She intentionally bypassed the elevator, wary of its retro wiring, and headed nine floors up the stairs. A musty odor of filth and decay filled Calla's nostrils. This wasn't the building she pictured a high-profile UNIT operative to live.

Calla knocked on the door of apartment 9-K, a cheery rapt she hoped would assuage some of the occupant's fears. Anyone and everyone associated with UNIT was doubly-cautious of late and Dr. Kline was no exception.

Not that I can blame her, Calla thought, bouncing in place while she waited, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking softly on the linoleum floor.

Inside the apartment, something metal clanged followed quickly by a violent swear. Moments later, what Calla thought would have been a heavy door swung round so fast she swore it dematerialized.

"Dr. Kline?" Calla posed gingerly.

"Who are you?" The woman narrowed her eyes as she did a quick scan of the stranger on her stoop.

Calla flashed her Torchwood credentials. Dr. Kline snorted. "Torchwood? You've got to be kidding me. What do you people want?"

"If I could just borrow a moment of your time, I have a few questions regarding your sister's case-"

"No." Maria Kline shook her head ferociously and moved to shut the door. "I'm not answering any questions."

Calla shoved the left half of her body into the apartment, halting the door's momentum with her foot. "Maria, your sister isn't the first. I need your help before this gets out of hand."

Maria relaxed her hold on the door. She seemed to think over Calla's proposition- a good sign. Then she dropped her shoulders and stood back for Calla to properly enter. "I don't know how I can help you, but I'll do my best."

Sweeping the other half of her body through the door, Calla found herself in the kitchen area of a well-furbished studio. A state of the art entertainment center took up the left side wall of the living area, a plush futon deliberately set to provide the lounger with views of both the television and the picture window. A rosy sunset illuminated the floor with a silhouette of New York City.

Maria waved her guest to the futon. "Why is Torchwood so interested now? You lot refused our earlier assistance requests."

"Everything has its time," Calla mumbled, thinking back on all those cryptic little quotes from her childhood. "The present is what I'm focusing on. The present, and how it will affect the future."

She twisted around to face Maria, taking in the rest of the surprisingly spacious room. A photo shelf ran along the opposite wall just above a beautiful wildlife mosaic of bears, wolves, and foliage. A small copper pot bubbled on the stove while fresh coffee dripped from a single-cup machine.

Maria swept into position between the futon and the television. "I have an appointment so make this quick."

"I know this isn't easy, and first let me offer my deepest condolences." Calla saw a flit of pain cross Maria's pale face. She paused sympathetically, then continued. "Including Austin, five UNIT outposts have been compromised, two in the states, one in Africa, and two in Asia. Personnel at every post were slaughtered."

Maria pursed her lips. "I know that. I lost former co-workers in those attacks."

"These weren't random attacks. Each of those particular posts houses UNIT personnel archives. The addresses of every operative are now in the hands of the enemy, in an encrypted file, so that buys us some time. But we don't have a positive ID on who or what targeted the posts." Calla grimaced inwardly. She knew exactly what had killed Jasmine Kline and the others, but UNIT refused to take action without proof.

"I can't help you there," Maria said blandly.

"You were the last person to talk to Jasmine. Did she offer you any indication something was wrong? Maybe a slight pause in the conversation, or maybe you heard something in the background?"

Maria thought for a moment, then shook her head. "We just... talked. I was trying to convince her to move out here. She was so stubborn about staying in Austin."

As the grieving sister fell silent Calla couldn't help but allow herself some self-pity. Taking Maria's hand in her own, she squeezed a brief of sense of compassion into the woman. Then she took a deep breath and blurted out the dreadful secret she had hoped to conceal. "If we don't find your sister's murderers more people will wind up dead. And not just UNIT personnel."

Maria looked quizzically at the brown-haired girl before her. Calla bit her lip, unsure of how to word what she couldn't reveal. "It's like dejavu. I've seen something similar happen before. And if it's the same perpetrators, then the whole planet is in real trouble."

This revelation stunned the good doctor. She reflexively removed her hand from Calla's grasp. "What do you mean, the whole planet? And how could you have seen anything before? You're just a kid!"

Calla ignored the last statement. "Well, for starters, without UNIT this planet has no defense against alien invaders and no way of assimilating refugees. Earth would fall in a second. Ever since the Industrial Revolution, humans have been on radar. The whole universe is noticing and that's not a good thing. Second, if I'm right about the identity of your sister's murderers, mankind has already lost."


	2. Chapter 2

**Cardiff**

Calla pushed the shades up the bridge of her nose. She had been sitting on the same bench for about an hour, keeping the Dalmatian in her peripheral while scanning the square. It was sparsely populated, corporate professionals rushing to beat the lunch hour clock, children on a school trip acting out behind teachers' backs. Calla scrutinized every passer-by like a wolf lying in wait and finally concluded her target had not yet arrived.

The puppy she had been assigned yapped at a pigeon. Calla frowned. Kurt the Dalmatian tensed his spotted frame and Calla knew his primal instincts had surfaced. She reined in the leash before he could pounce. Realizing his quarry was unattainable, Kurt whimpered reproachfully.

Calla had taken the temp job at the shelter as a cover; dog-walkers frequented the square so often that they were immune to notice. Since leaving New York two weeks ago, Calla popped from job to job around the square, always keeping an eye out for unusual activity, members of UNIT or Torchwood, and him. Maria Kline had been of little help, though she had promised to keep Calla updated on UNIT activities, which Calla took to mean she had at least one ally in the organization.

"Oi! My purse!" A middle-aged woman screamed at spiry man dressed all in black. The thief bounced around a group of students and raced through the square.

Normally, Calla merely offered a quick glance at muggings, human curiosity getting the better of her, before returning to her own activities. Getting involved in something as trivial as theft removed the invisibility she worked so hard to maintain. But something about this mugging struck Calla as odd. The victim's body should have been taunt whereas the woman was visibly relaxed, save for the flash of pain that crossed her eyes. She pulled a worn handkerchief from her pocket and coughed. Red dots splashed in the corner.

This was not a mugging; it was a diversion. And the victim and the mugger were not human.

The woman craned her neck around the good Samaritans that fussed over her, a look of astonishment spreading across her face. For a moment, Calla wondered what the female alien saw that was so bewildering. Then it hit her: the woman recognized her.

"You!" The woman pointed an accusatory finger at Calla.

Time to go, Calla thought. She leaped up from the bench, weaving Kurt's leash around a wrought-iron leg, and sprinted across the square. The click-clack of stilettos resounded from behind, the woman close on Calla's heels.

Two men and a woman entered from the other side of the square. Calla stopped short. The taller of the two men wore a brown suit and and distinctive brand-name sneakers. Finally, he had arrived.

Something sharp ripped through Calla's shoulder. She gasped as warm blood trickled down her back. Instinctively, she raised her left arm parallel to her bust and jammed her elbow into her attacker. The woman doubled over and Calla took advantage, jerking the alien up by her hair and throwing a right-hook to her face. The woman staggered backwards before landing spread-eagle on the pavement. Blood stained the three claws protruding from her outstretched hand, causing one spectator to comment on the similarity to a character from his favorite comic book.

Calla glanced back at the newcomers who were moving swiftly towards an alley. Should have known, Calla thought. She jogged the rest of the way until she was perpendicular to the trio, detouring through a gaggle of cops who had apprehended the mugger.

They were turning into the alley. "Wait!" Calla shrieked, horrified she almost let him get away.

She raced the final few feet to intercept them. "Please!" she pleaded, her brown eyes making contact with each of them in turn. They stared at her expectantly.

"Tell me you're not a fan," the Doctor groaned.

"What? No, I need your help. That's what you do, right? You help people?" Calla allowed some of the smirk building inside to uplift the corners of her lips. She knew he was the one man in the universe who would never turn his back on someone in need.

The other man cocked his head, his antique jacket shifting with his weight. "Have we met?"

"Don't," his companions said.

"Ignore Jack." The woman steered Calla away from the playboy. She extended a hand which Calla gratefully accepted. "I'm Martha. Now, what's your troubles?"

Calla breathed a sigh of relief. She had worried they would dismiss her without a second thought but here she was, holding their attention. And wasting time. "This world is in danger. Those UNIT posts that were attacked, it was all the same perps. They're systematically wiping out the Earth's defenses. If they haven't started already they will eventually infiltrate every branch of government and the military so that when they officially invade there will be no stopping them."

"How do you know-" Martha interrupted.

Calla threw up a hand to silence her. "We haven't got much time. I spotted two of these aliens creating a diversion on the square. My guess is Torchwood's next on the list."

Jack started. Calla blankly thought he meant to dash out of the alley but the thought failed to register. She saw him pivot, saw Martha gape in fear, and saw the Doctor reach out for both companions. Calla was unsure of the meaning of their actions. Then she felt something heavy knock into her back, sending her spinning through the air, past rusting barrels and a tall blue box. Wincing, Calla smacked into the side of a dumpster. Breathing hard, she propped herself up on her elbows before she realized it was a mistake. A flash of bright light seared her eyes. She squeezed them shut as the ground beneath her gave way. She was falling, falling through nothing. This wasn't right. There should be rocks, debris, underground pipes. Calla cautiously felt around her weightless body. Nothing. She was falling though non-existence.

Thud! The nothingness was replaced by solid rock. Calla felt her ungraceful landing jar every bone. She peeked through her eyelids. The blinding light was gone. A weak sun shone above a gray wasteland. Calla's head, still reeling from impact, believed this to be what was left of Cardiff.

"Where the hell are we?" croaked a male voice to Calla's right.

Shaking clear her head, Calla once again took in her new surroundings. It was Jack who had posed the question. He lay flat on his stomach, pulling himself up muscle by muscle. To Calla's left, the Doctor was helping Martha to her feet.

"That's a good question," Martha muttered. She glared at Calla. "Any ideas?"

Calla swallowed hard. She recognized this place. They weren't supposed to be here. This was a place of death and destruction, of pain and loss. This was what she had been trying to stop from happening in their world. "Welcome to my world."


	3. Chapter 3

Calla stood looking out over a bland expanse of stunted trees and mounds of rubble. She recognized the spot as an urban development, the trees lining what remained of a road. A pair of hairless squirrels skittered around a broken birdbath.

"What happened?" Martha asked quietly.

Calla didn't answer right away. Her stony face kept its position, eyes on the horizon where the light barely tipped the oncoming darkness. She couldn't bear to witness the bright green shoots pushing up through the bleak devastation. New life, the semblance of a prosperous future, was a false dream to one whose life was a never-ending battle. Subconsciously, her mind wandered to her parents. She saw her mother, blond hair streaked with red, falling ungraciously to the floor while her father gave her one last butterfly kiss. Calla bit back the memories.

"They happened. They destroyed our cities, our lives. Then they rounded us up like cattle and shoved us in camps."

Jack blanched. "Camps? You mean like-"

"Yes. Right down to the ovens."

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets. Calla studied him. She had expected an outburst, some bitter retort. All the stories she had heard rarely mentioned a silent Doctor. Yet here he was, flesh and bone and silent as a statue.

"What are they?" Jack asked.

"Yaoulic. Lizards. They take human form at the risk of crushing themselves to death. Their respiratory systems fail under the pressure and their lungs hemorrhage." The woman from the square flashed through Calla's mind. She shrugged her shoulder, stretching the rows of scabs. "But even in their human skin they're deadly. The females have retractable claws and the males secrete poison."

"Lovely," Martha muttered. She glanced at Calla, her face clouding. Calla was taken aback. Martha just stared at her. Then Calla realized she had become the object of scrutiny, a foreign concept to one like herself. It was weird to be on the other side. Taking the young woman's hand, Martha said, "They did something to you. Whatever it was, we can fix it."

Calla shook her head. "You can't fix this. We fell long ago. There wasn't even a war, just infiltration and destruction. In one day, the human race succumbed. In one day, the day my..."

Her lip began to quiver. Calla felt the pain bubbling to the surface and she shuddered. Emotions made you vulnerable, vulnerability got you dead. That had been her second lesson in survival. The first was to run and never look back.

She set her teeth and lifted her head with a strength reserve that never faltered. "They stole my childhood but that made me stronger, made me who I am. And I will not let this happen to your world."

"But how did we get here? Travel between worlds is impossible."

Calla started. She'd almost forgotten about the Doctor.

"You're one to talk. You brought Rose and Jackie here," Jack said.

"That was different. They didn't belong in our world. I was just bringing them home." The Doctor looked quizzically at Calla. "The walls between all the worlds are closed. How did you get to ours?"

Calla fumbled in her back pocket then pulled out an identification card. She imperceptibly covered one half, leaving only the organization logo and her picture visible. "My Torchwood came into possession of a dimension cannon. When the Yaoulic took control they used it to cross into your world. I was chosen to follow them and warn your governments of impending invasion."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Bet that went well."

An explosion rocked their precarious perch. Calla centered her gravity on the largest piece of concrete she could find. The other three attempted to balance where they were.

The eastern sky was shielded in dust. Its dispersion was hastened by a northwest wind. Covering her mouth with her sleeve, Calla motioned to the others to follow. She picked her way down from the roof, creating footholds out of busted window panes and steel beams. The sign above the storefront revealed the building to have been a cafe.

"I thought you said the war was over," Martha said as she reached ground level.

"We have resistance groups. They started using guerrilla tactics and basic evacuation plans to get citizens to shelters. Then we adapted to attacking prisoner transport vehicles and the camps. Unfortunately that's resulted in collateral damage. When I left we'd just begun to reevaluate our strikes," Calla explained.

"So that was you lot?" Jack asked pointing to the hazy sky.

Calla shrugged. "I assume so. Yaoulic aren't exactly known for their use of pipe bombs."

The little group stood awakwardly watching the dust settle. Calla shifted her weight from one foot to the other. This immobility made her uncomfortable, especially out in the open where they were most vulnerable. They would have to find shelter. She glanced around. Some of these houses might have basements still intact where they could hide until nightfall. She would raid the street for supplies under the cover of dark then work out a plan to return to the parallel world. Her world was lost; she had accepted that long ago. But their world still had a chance.

"What year is it?" the Doctor asked, absentmindedly brushing dust from his suit.

"Dunno. I've been gone nearly two years. Well, two years based on your world's timeline. We're running ahead several years-"

Calla stopped abruptly. The Doctor had gone ashen. She had expected him to make the connection eventually but the look on his face still struck something instinctive inside her.

"Then this is Pete's World," the Doctor whispered.

"Yes." Calla was unsure how to display sympathy. She amazed herself that she recognized the feeling in her heart as sympathy. In a world where everybody slogged through a living hell, sympathy was moot.

Recovering quickly, the Doctor clapped his hands together. "So we liberate your world, find a way home, and stop the Yaoulic in our world." He grinned manically.

Calla had to admit she was impressed. He was certainly living up to his reputation, inner strength with a slight childlike disposition. She couldn't tell if he was naive or just determined. She thought she had impressed upon them that it was their world that needed saving.

"There is nothing we can do for my world. I told you that."

The Doctor frowned. "What kind of attitude is that, giving up before we've even started? Humans. So brilliant and yet so lazy."

"Doctor." Martha stepped forward, eying the southern horizon.

Calla and the Doctor twisted to face Martha's direction. A rolling black cloud blanketed their visibility. It's behavior was a cross between dusk and a thunderstorm.

Then darkness blurred. Calla peered through narrowed eyes straining for a better picture. The horizon continued to shift. Black ribbons eased out from the shapeless form, dancing through the golden sky. Then the ribbons straightened, coursing a linear path directly towards the quartet.

**Author's note: It'll be a few more days before I can update but chapters four and five should be added by the end of the week.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Run!" Calla ordered.

Calla darted round a corner, moving opposite of the cafe, the Doctor, Jack, and Martha following close behind. They paused in an alley, crouching to put themselves level with the top of the rubble.

"We have to get back to your world, and fast," Calla panted, stealing a glance over their hideout. The ribbons floated as leaves bobbing along a gently rolling river. They slowed, then halted above the group's previous location.

"Why not go back the way we came?" Martha suggested.

"We can't. When the Yaoulic blew up Torchwood the explosion was so powerful it created a rift between worlds. It would have sealed itself by now," the Doctor explained.

Calla nodded in agreement but kept a watchful eye on the ribbons, which had, during this exchange, straightened into one thick black rod that sliced the air.

"Good thing Gwen, Ianto, and Mickey were in London," Jack said.

"How thick are you?" Calla whirled around, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. "Do you honestly think I'd leave them in the line of fire? I sent them to London."

"You were the anonymous tip?" Jack asked.

Now both Calla's eyes grew wide in incredulity. She knew Jack tended to follow his impulses but she couldn't believe he would think she'd sacrifice his team. Frustrated at his patronization, Calla turned back to the rod. It was shivering. No, not shivering, shaking in the manner of a tree branch under attack by a woodpecker.

The Doctor was looking over Calla's shoulder. "Do you recognize that?" he asked, pointing.

"I haven't seen anything like it in years. But if I'm right, we're in trouble. That's an extension to a Yaoulic transport ship which means..." Calla didn't need to finish. Three nimble male soldiers were scurrying along the rod, dropping onto the road below. They wore black jumpsuits making them look frighteningly similar to ninjas. The soldiers sniffed the air around them.

Calla scooted backwards. "Stay at least fifteen feet away from them. Their poison is deadly but not airborne. As long as you maintain adequate space between yourself and them, you'll be fine." She pivoted, pulling the group into a loose huddle. "On my command, head southwest. That'll lead you to London. If we get separated, rendezvous at Canary Wharf. Or what's left of it."

The others nodded. Calla glanced at the soldiers. They were on all fours now, sniffing the pavement and leaping from spot to spot. Damn lizards, Calla thought. They make humans look so stupid. Confident the soldiers were occupied and had yet to find their trail, Calla signaled to leave.

Jack grabbed Martha's hand and led her out of the urban development, towards a neighboring forest. Calla continued to watch the Yaoulic soldiers. Her mission had been to stop the Yaoulic from decimating the parallel world. Getting trapped in her own, with citizens from the other world, had not been part of the plan. Improvising, Calla pushed saving the world to second place, giving protecting the Doctor, Martha, and Jack as priority one. If she could distract the Yaoulic long enough, she could at least give her charges a head start to London. Once they arrived at Torchwood, the resistance would know to send them home via the dimension cannon.

Calla began to move towards the street, using herself as bait for the Yaoulic, when a hand grasped her shoulder. It was the Doctor.

"Don't do it," he begged.

Calla pursed her lips. She didn't enjoy being dictated to; she had suffered enough as a member of the resistance. But she conceded that he was right. She was too valuable to the mission to risk her life so shamelessly. Taking the Doctor's proffered hand, Calla raced into the forest.

Jack and Martha were resting on a fallen log when Calla and the Doctor caught up with them. Darkness now engulfed them, the quarter moon reflecting silvery shadows through the canopy.

"We have to keep going. Once the Yaoulic pick up our scent it's only a matter of time before we're caught." Calla shuddered. Just thinking about the camps frightened her.

"What happens if they catch us?" Martha asked, standing and stretching.

"They'll take us to the camps to be processed. I don't know much about what processing entails, or what happens inside camp walls, but I've heard stories. We're slaves, personal assistants sold to high-ranking Yaoulics to do God knows what to us."

The little group was silent as they each imagined the kinds of hell the Yaoulic inflicted. Calla knew it had to be terrible, but the Yaoulic could do nothing worse to her than what they had already achieved: murdering her family. She blinked back the memory, unable to fully remove her father from her mind...

_She stood by the dining room window clutching the teddy bear Gran had given her for her fifth birthday. Her father noticed her first, fear spreading across his young-looking face. He knocked a Yaoulic to the floor then rushed to her._

_"Run, Calla. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can, and never look back." He kissed her, pulled her into a quick hug, and slipped something metal into the pocket of her bathrobe._

"You okay?"

Calla jumped. The Doctor looked worried.

"I'm alright," Calla said.

Jack and Martha waited patiently by the log for Calla and the Doctor. They had just begun walking when a screech broke the stillness of the forest.

"It's the Yaoulic!" Calla screamed.

A scaly hand wrapped itself around the young woman's mouth, the lizard's other hand pulling Calla's arms around her back. Calla kicked and squirmed. The Yaoulic was molting and therefore splitting its energy between bodily processes and keeping hold of her. If she struggled enough during the final molting stage- when the Yaoulic's organs reverted from their locations in the human body to their locations in the lizard form- she might be able to force the Yaoulic to divert all its strength to the molt, thus freeing herself.

Calla stopped wrestling and took a deep breath, ready to wait for the process to near completion. Big mistake. She inhaled a foul liquid that covered the hand on her mouth, quickly recognized it as Yaoulic poison, and went limp.

Unable to control her muscles, Calla was still aware of her surroundings. Martha lay immobile on the forest floor, taken out earlier by the Yaoulic that now held Jack. The third soldier was already heading back to town dragging the Doctor behind him. Calla's captor pushed her to the ground, grabbing her ankles in its left hand and Martha's in its right. They slithered through the forest, a funny little parade of humans, Time Lord, and Yaoulic.

The black rod had returned to its ship, replaced by a rusted minivan with the seats removed. The four captives were thrown in, joining the already over-crowded passengers. Once the hatch was shut, the Yaoulic driver sped towards the west, heading east towards the camp that had been attacked earlier. Calla grieved for the resistance's failure to take out the prison.

The feeling began to return to her limbs. She moved her lips in an effort to speak. She was pleased when a croaky voice asked the frail woman beside her, "What will they do to us?"

"I heard they scan us, looking for aliens. They're afraid of aliens. Humans don't possess the intelligence to stop them, but aliens do," the woman whispered rapidly.

Calla's eyes grew wide. She glanced at the Doctor, glad he overheard. They had to avoid processing, or they'd end up dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**En Route to Ipswich Camp**

Calla felt along the van interior, feeling for the door handle or even the power window mechanism. The handle had been removed. Undaunted, Calla continued searching until she found the mechanism. She pushed the button. The window didn't budge. She pushed it again, and again, harder each time before getting frustrated and finally giving up.

"Try this." The Doctor sidled in beside Calla, aiming the sonic screwdriver at the mechanism. Calla tried to stifle a laugh but a snort gave her away. "What?" the Doctor asked.

"If that would have worked, don't you think I would have used it in the first place?" Calla held out a similar device, juxtaposing the original with the replica.

The Doctor gaped. "Where did you get that?"

"Seriously?" Calla raised an eyebrow. When the Doctor just continued to stare, Calla rolled her eyes and pocketed her screwdriver. Apparently I overestimated him, Calla thought. She glanced around the van, stalling. If she looked occupied maybe he wouldn't ask questions. A part of her wanted him to know the truth but she also knew the truth would destroy him and she couldn't do that to him. She couldn't tell him, she couldn't have that on her conscience, but if his genius mind figured it out for himself that was his problem.

"Where are they taking us?" Still reeling from the effects of the poison, Jack struggled over prisoners, the right half of his body still paralyzed, determined to rejoin Calla and the Doctor.

"Ipswich Camp," the frail woman whispered. She convulsed a moment then, "Some of us they found in shelters. But some are being relocated. They're the ones who know about the scans."

The vehicle hit a rough road, bumping along and jostling the prisoners. An elbow knocked into Calla's ribs, winding her. Another bump tossed her into the ceiling where she rolled backwards towards the hatch. She fell against the door; it was loosely locked, a fissure along the bumper exposing the road below. With enough force we could bust it open, Calla brainstormed.

Jack and the Doctor were pinioned against the front seat where iron bars had been installed to separate the driver from the hold. Calla motioned them over. As she turned back to the hatch, she heard a familiar sounding voice groan. Pushing an emaciated prisoner out of the way, Calla pulled a disoriented Martha out from under a dog-pile.

"You alright?" Calla asked.

Martha nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. She pulled herself up as best she could in the cramped van. "I thought you said their poison was deadly," she said.

"I guess it's a paralyzer that mimics death." Calla gasped in terrible realization. "They weren't dead. All those people, we thought the Yaoulic killed them. But it was us... we killed them. We buried them alive," Calla sobbed.

Martha hugged the poor girl. "You didn't know. You're not responsible. The Yaoulic are to blame."

The boys picked their way through the prisoners and finally joined the girls at the back of the van. "What's the plan?" Jack asked.

"The hatch isn't fully secure. With enough weight, it should break free."

"Let's do it," Jack grinned.

The girls scooted over, giving the boys a little more than half of the hatch to lean against. The four braced themselves, lunged, and fell backwards. They staggered upright and readied to try again.

The van came to a sudden halt throwing the quartet headfirst into the hatch.

"Ow." Calla pressed a hand to her head. "That'll hurt in the morning."

"What happened?" Martha asked, pulling herself out of the door.

Calla peered through the crack in the hatch. The road was still. That's not good, she thought. The slam of the driver's side door caught her attention. The driver was walking alongside the van, heading for the backdoor. He struggled with the lock and lifted the hatch. Either Calla's plan had been discovered or-

"We're here," the driver sang.

**Ipswich Camp**

The prisoners were forcibly hauled out of the van and lined up along the shoulder of the road. Twenty meters past the road a cement wall towered over the landscape. Yaoulic guards, some in human form, most retaining their natural lizard physique, strolled along grounds. Calla noted that the corner guard shacks were heavily armed.

A Yaoulic captain, his lapel read Ma'Haj, greeted the driver. Ma'Haj was tall, at least eight feet, with spindly fingers and toes protruding from slender limbs. He crawled to the prisoners and reared up on his hind legs. His long tongue flicked in and out as he looked over the new captives.

Ma'Haj bellowed for two lieutenants. They lumbered over, metal boxes Calla could only compare to portable televisions held fast by their tails.

"Scan them," Ma'Haj ordered.

The lieutenants obeyed. The boxes were held level with each prisoner's brain. A red horizontal line rolled up and down each face, the boxes humming as the Yaoulic technology performed a bioscan.

When scanning was completed, each human prisoner was escorted into the camp and the Yaoulic lieutenants moved on to the next prisoner in line. This managerial process meant that Martha and Jack would be scanned first, buying Calla and the Doctor time to devise an escape plan.

One of the human form guards stood motionless by the front door of the camp. He nodded at Calla; she grinned. The resistance hadn't failed after all. They had stolen the Yaoulic's idea and gone on the offensive, infiltrating the camp. The resistance guard, Parker, if Calla remembered correctly, patted the large gun at his side and nodded towards his companion on the other side of the door. This resistance guard also patted his gun then nodded towards the guard shacks. Calla knew what to do.

Out of the corner of her mouth Calla muttered to the Doctor, "I can disable the guns on the north if you take the south shack."

The Doctor nodded, hand already heading for his pocket, when the Yaoulic bioscanners began beeping incessantly. The lieutenants sneered. Ma'Haj marched up to the prisoner, wrapping a scaly hand around her throat. Calla recognized her as the frail woman from the van.

Ma'Haj looked over the woman. "Not human," he mumbled. He glared through back slits and released the woman. "Incinerate her!"

Two of the guards on patrol hauled the woman through a side door of the camp. Moments later a violent burst of heat issued into the sky complete with ash and the acrid smell of burning flesh.

Martha whimpered. Calla bit her tongue, her face saying all that was necessary. The Yaoulic were cold-blooded murderers and there was no way in hell Calla would just stand by and let that happen. Not in her world, not in any world.

The slighter of the two lieutenants was scanning Martha while his partner scanned Jack. Ma'Haj observed the proceedings, personally scanning the remaining prisoners himself. His gaze caught on Calla. "I know you." He strode forward until he was face to face with the pale girl. "You were with that Torchwood group that destroyed our southern headquarters. Do you know what we do to human pests like you? We have a special room reserved for you here. We have fun in that room, as you scream and beg for mercy." Ma'Haj flicked his tongue and stood back. "Scan her."

Both lieutenants abandoned their charges and turned the bioscans on Calla. The machines beeped wildly.

"Impossible!" The small lieutnant looked as though he'd seen a ghost. Ma'Haj tore the scanner from his hands and growled.

"You can't exist!" He threw the scanner to the ground and grabbed Calla round the neck. "The scanner never lies. How can you be? The Time Lords are dead!"

"Not... Time Lord," Calla gasped.

Ma'Haj tightened his grip. "Then what are you?"

"Only... a quarter." Calla kicked out, ramming Ma'Haj in the knees. He bucked, letting go of his captive, but did not go down.

Parker, who, when Calla attacked Ma'Haj, had simultaneously attacked one of the guards and disarmed him, tossed the Yaoulic gun in the air, arching it towards Calla.

"Tyler!"

**Author's note: It'll be about a week before I can update again, but... it will be a double chapter update!**


	6. Chapter 6

**London, Fifteen Years Earlier**

"Now I lay me down to sleep..."

Footsteps echoed down the hall, garbled shouts ringing in her ears. Calla pulled the comforter over her head. Trembling, she reached for her teddy bear.

"Now I lay me down to sleep..."

Someone screamed. She recognized the voice as female, though whether it belonged to her mother or Gran she didn't know. It might not have been human.

The door creaked open and heavy boots entered. She tightened her grip on the comforter, hardly breathing. The boots marched around the bed. He was a soldier, she was sure of it, but not a member of her parents' unit. The gait was awkward, as though he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin. Skin. He was hiding in human skin. He was one of them, one of those things from her parents' stories.

He peeled back the comforter, putting a finger to his lips. He smiled. "Hush now, it's okay." He passed her the bathrobe that hung on the foot board. "You need to come downstairs now and see Mama and Daddy."

Calla tore the robe from his calloused hands but did not put it on. He scared her. He kept his distance, she was smart enough to know that was a good sign, but she still felt uncomfortable with him so close.

The soldier frowned. "Hurry up," he growled.

She hastily wrapped herself in the robe. He nodded, then took her hand and led her into the hall.

Calla recoiled at the sight before her. A man, no, not a man. The lower half of his body was human but the head, arms, and torso were green and scaly, like the lizards she'd seen at the zoo. The half-man, half-lizard creature was bent over the second floor railing, blood dripping from a gash in his chest. Another lizard was slumped against the wall.

"Move," her escort ordered. He pushed her towards the stairs. She was shuffling forward when her bare feet slipped in something wet. It was blood, deep red and glistening in the pale light of the sconces. Her eye followed the trail to...

"Gran," she whispered.

The soldier behind her held her shoulder and maneuvered her down the stairs where the fighting had relocated. They passed her grandfather's body on the landing. Calla shuddered.

She was steered to the parlor. Broken furniture and smashed glass littered the floor covered in more blood. Bodies were strewn throughout the room and into the adjacent dining room. They were mostly lizards with a few humans thrown in. She concluded the human bodies were just lizards in disguise as they were dressed in the same all-black style of her captor.

On the far side of the parlor, her mother was battling a series of attackers. She spun around, pistol whipping the man on her right and high kicking the lizard on her left. Flipping the gun around, she aimed and fired at the lizard; he fell in a heap.

"Mama!" Calla wriggled out of the soldier's grasp and ran forward.

Rose froze, fear paralyzing her. It was only for an instant, but that single second was enough. She lurched forward, a red stain spreading across her jacket, and fell to the ground.

"No!" her father screamed. He rushed for his wife, but was forced to somersault under the dining table to avoid decapitation. His attacker swore, her vicious-looking claws swiping air.

The escort raced after Calla, but, seeing his comrade moving in on an even sweeter quarry, dropped the chase and turned his attention to her father. She took the opportunity to put space between her and the terrible creatures destroying her family, crouching low by the dining room window, teddy bear held fast in her small hand.

She watched her father take out the female. He had just begun on the male when he saw her, his pretty little daughter, bearing witness to murder and his transformation into a murderer. In a rage, he knocked the male to the ground and ran to her.

"Run, Calla. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can, and never look back." He kissed her, pulled her into a quick hug, and slipped something metal into the pocket of her bathrobe.

She obeyed. She hurtled out of the dining room and into the cool night air.

**Ipswich Camp**

Calla didn't think. She reached out for the gun, training kicking in. All those years hiding underground, scavenging for food and medical supplies, had hardened her and Torchwood had noticed. She was pleased the resistance recruited her for nimble acrobatics and quick thinking, rather than abusing her intelligence or paternity.

Swinging the rifle around her head, she pistol-whipped the Yaoulic soldier to her left and brought the gun around to her five o'clock where Ma'Haj stood barring his teeth. He sprung forward, hurtling over Calla, and landing upright several yards away.

Calla spun, aimed, and blasted the lizard to the ground. She walked up beside him, never lowering her weapon. Her right foot clamped down on his neck, pinning him. She pointed the gun at his head. His dark eyes glared up, almost daring her to do it.

Which was the right option? With Ma'Haj dead, they could liberate the camp and, potentially, given the Yaoulic's rank, strike a disastrous blow to the Yaoulic army by removing one of their best officers. On the other hand, if she pulled the trigger, she would be no better than him. It was no longer a matter of which was right. Her duty was to mankind, even if Ma'Haj was a living being. The good of the many, that was her choice.

His face froze in menace. It struck Calla that even in death Ma'Haj was a devil.

Parker and a handful of resistance soliders stood guard over a handcuffed group of Yaoulics. Three soldiers, along with Jack and Martha, were attempting to break through the front door of the camp. The Doctor was fidgeting with the sonic screwdriver looking for the proper frequency to override the door's controls.

Calla joined the Doctor. He glanced at the rifle that hung limp in her hand but didn't say anything. He continued to fiddle with the screwdriver.

"I'm sorry," Calla said. "I should have told you about Mum."

He remained silent, aiming the screwdriver at the door. Calla bit her lip. She knew this would only complicate the situation, make it awkward for all parties involved, but she was at a loss as to how the situation would rectify itself.

The door clanged open. The resistance soldiers on the outside flooded in, warmly greeted by those who had infiltrated within, before they split again to cover the interior and smoke out remaining Yaoulics.

Prisoners, men, women, children, the elderly, limped out of barracks and outbuildings, unsure of what was happening. Calla ushered Martha to a small boy covered in tiny red spots, then followed Parker deeper into the camp.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: I am so sorry I haven't updated! I've just been mad busy with school! Please forgive! I promise I will not abandon this story and this chapter is totally worth a read!

New York- Our World

Maria Kline thumped her pen against the desk. She had been called in for an emergency meeting and ushered to a conference room. Two men were already seated at the long gray table. One, an Asian man in a three piece suit, worked in Research and Development. Maria didn't recognize the Caucasian man but thought she had seen him in the field. He was dressed head to toe in black.

"We've been waiting an hour!" the Asian man growled.

"No kidding, idiot," the other retorted.

Maria sighed with impatience. She, too, was annoyed by the situation. According to General Raze's secretary, the meeting was to start promptly at 1 o'clock. Maria glanced at her watch. 2:05. Where was General Raze?

The door creaked open and the Asian man jumped to attention. "Sir," he saluted.

General Raze was of imposing figure, with a steady gait and quick eyes. He sauntered to the table and stood rigid before his proffered chair. He didn't speak.

"Sir?" the Caucasian man asked. "Is everything alright?"

The General's eyes darted towards the man. He cocked his head like a dog that has heard a strange sound. "No," he finally answered. "Everything is not alright."

Maria watched the General slip a hand into his jacket and pull out an antique shotgun, Winchester, she presumed. What was he doing with an antiquated weapon? This was UNIT for crying out loud. They had the best, the newest, top of the line.

"Is that why we were summoned? For a shotgun?" The Asian man snorted. "It's not alien. What does it have to do with-"

Bang!

The Asian man slumped in his seat, his head smacking against the table with a sickening squelch. A pool of crimson blood begin to spread towards Maria. She was too scared to scream.

"What the hell?" The Caucasian man jumped out of his seat, eyeing the General with fear and confusion.

The General shifted his weight and aimed at the other man.

Maria watched in horror as the gun fired. She screamed and ducked under the table. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and hit the only speed dial number she could think of.

Heavy boots circled the table. Rough hands grabbed the woman and yanked her to her feet.

"Why are you doing this?" she cried.

General Raze grinned, peeling the skin from his left hand to reveal green, scaly flesh. "We like this planet. It now belongs to the Yaoulic."

Maria remembered now. Calla had warned her about an alien threat against Earth. And here they were, one of them anyway, with his amphibious hand round her throat.

With one swift movement, he snapped her fragile neck and Maria Kline's lifeless body dropped to the floor. Beside her immobile hand lay her cell phone, the timer ticking away. The caller id read one word: Calla.

Ipswich Camp- Parallel World

Parker's men had infiltrated the camp and released several hundred prisoners from the central barracks. Calla directed those in need of medical attention to the makeshift hospital outside the camp where Martha had set up shop. The able bodied assisted the Resistance soldiers with the liberation and the remaining Yaoulic soldiers who, it seemed, were determined to go down fighting rather than become prisoners of war.

As soon as she could get away, Calla sought out the Doctor. He had offered to lead one of Parker's teams into the laboratories. Calla shuddered. As a child, she had been subjected to experimentation and knew full well the "science" the Yaoulic practiced.

"Doctor!" Calla called as she rounded one of the tenements and came across a massive stone building pumping thick plumes of white smoke.

He looked up but did not acknowledge her. Calla bit her lip. The entire situation was just awkward and if he knew the whole truth it would probably kill him.

"Doctor," Calla joined him. He was leading a young woman, four months pregnant at most, to the medical tent.

Unsure of how to broach a conversation since the earlier revelation, Calla opted for a different report and jumped into Resistance soldier mode. "Status report?" she asked.

"One hundred and seventy-nine people on the ground floor, two hundred and six on the second."

He refused to say anything more. Calla was surprised. As far as she knew, he was never at a loss for words.

They dropped the woman off at the tent. The Doctor moved to head back into the camp but Calla stopped him. "Wait," she pleaded. "We have to talk."

He shoved his hands in his coat pocket and stared at her. Calla pitied him. After everything he'd endured, he didn't deserve this. Calla took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out like that. I should have told you, I just didn't know how. I mean, you love Mum and I know it had to be hard to leave her here again, especially with Dad, and I just didn't know how to break it to you without causing you pain."

He remained silent, but his expression softened. Calla continued. "It wasn't that I was afraid of revealing my identity. That's just confusing. I mean, what are we to each other? I never could figure that out. But I knew, if you knew my identity, then I'd have to tell you what happened to my parents and I just couldn't do that to you. I'd rather you remain blissfully ignorant, then you wouldn't be hurt."

"I don't know either," he said, running a hand through his spiked brown hair. "How we're related," he explained, seeing the confused look on Calla's face.

"Oh," Calla exclaimed. "Right. Well, I have a theory. Well, it was my parent's theory. Well, it's not really a theory so much as an… What?" Calla asked. The Doctor wore a strange smile.

"He really is me. You adopted my mannerisms," he grinned.

Calla's face fell. "He really was you."

The Doctor's eyes grew wide. "What?" he whispered.

"They're dead. My parents, they're dead. The Yaoulic killed them when I was five." Tears formed in Calla's eyes. One rolled down her cheek. She refused to look at the Doctor. She feared the expression on his face. Instead, she took his hand and kept talking.

"Anyway, our theory: Dad and you are one in the same, right? Except for the whole one heart, one life, no regeneration thing. Dad was half human but at the same time he was you, same looks, same body, all that good stuff. He was engineered half human, half alien. He was unique. And that makes me unique. His DNA didn't mix like it should have, so I was born half human, half alien."

The Doctor gasped. "If you're half human, half Timelord, then, technically, genetically, that makes me your father."


End file.
